


The Lost One

by raiyana



Series: The Cryptid Chronicles [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Naga, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Athess Naga-Queen learns a disturbing truth that sends her on a hunt for answers.And for her grandson.
Relationships: Athess(OFC) & Her Children, Glorfindel's Father/Glorfindel's Mother (Tolkien)
Series: The Cryptid Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982872
Kudos: 6
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	The Lost One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagpieCrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieCrown/gifts).



For once, she had bestirred herself to move among her sons, exchanging a curt nod with her mate; he knows he’s not welcome at her side, and so do they, though she has kept her displeasure unspoken since they first brought her the news.

_I am sorry, hatchling, that I could not keep you safe._

Not that she had had much of a choice, the whole thing over before she even knew that a dryad had had the nerve to approach her den.

Athess tried very hard not to feel angry at her latest – perhaps last – clutch.

She knew she did not always manage, seeing her hatchlings’ faces fall when her words bit too deep.

And still she had not banished them all, for what good would that do?

Seri would still be gone, him and his foolishly brave wife, too. And the hatchling they made together.

Just one, but one was enough – one hatchling to prove that the clans were not so different from one another that they could not breed.

Though perhaps that was Yavanna’s gift to her handmaidens; Athess did not know.

“What are dryads like, Krashny?” someone simpered as she passed the room that Krashnyasha had claimed for his own, filling it with lissom ladies and well-filled barrels of drink.

Krashnyasha had never concealed his pleasures, after all, taking his fill of both flesh and food whenever either was available.

It was one of the few traits she liked in that particular hatchling of hers, an echo of her mate in his son.

“They’re vile things, twiglike,” Krashyasha replied haughtily. “But not as vile as Serizhess the Betrayer,” he hissed, banging his mug on the table.

Athess froze in the hallway, her fangs bared in a snarl. They would never – even Krashnyasha who was so secure in his sire’s approval he almost seemed to disdain her own – dare to say such a thing in her presence, and yet Athess had long suspected that her favoured son was mocked even in death for his choices.

“Mother always doted on him,” Risush griped, a low snarl of jealous anger in the words. “He was the runt of our clutch.”

He had always been the jealous sort, too busy with making sure no one else got more than he did.

“But we showed him!” Krashnyasha boasted, “and his ugly ‘wife’, too.”

“You killed him?” Srama asked, and Athess knew him well enough to hear the agitation his brother would not catch in his voice.

He had always been close to Seri, she knew, suddenly wondering whether her hatchling might have confided in others besides her.

“Myself, yes – and Risush, here,” Krahnyasha laughed uproariously as the sound of a heavy fist against a strong back echoed into the hallway. “Skinned him alive and tore his throat out.” He paused, obviously downing another flagon of ale. “He didn’t whine so much as I’d thought he might,” he added, almost philosophical for once – Athess had long wondered where the wisdom of the Naga was hiding in that particular son – and called for more ale.

“Whine?” Srama said, and Athess wondered if Krahsnayasha was aware of the darkness coating that single word. Did he realise how badly Srama wanted him dead?

“He was always weak,” Krashnyasha scoffed. “But when we killed him, all he said was…. Well, it was weird, brother, it was, but he told us – as if he thought we’d do it! – he told us to tell Mother – _Mother_ – that the hatchling looked like her. Can you believe it?!”

Athess’ heart froze in her chest. _Oh, my hatchling…_

“I can’t believe you told her,” Srama replied evenly.

“ _Of course_ , we didn’t,” Risush deadpanned. “Babyscales was raving nonsense – there was no hatchling, nor shells to be found anywhere, and no twiglet found with the dryad bitch once we caught her.”

“Exactly!” Krashnyasha bellowed, hammering his flagon against the oak table for more. “Why bother Mother with the ravings of an insane hatchling that should have been eaten with his shell?”

_They… didn’t kill the hatchling?_

_But then… where is Seri’s son?_

Athess’ mind reeled as she slithered back towards her den, plans forming. She was not currently gravid, and no clutch needed tending… and there was a chance – a small one, but a chance nonetheless.

_I will find you, scale of my scales. For my hatchling’s sake._

* * *

The anger didn’t truly hit until the third day out from the den.

_How dare they!_

Athess spent most of the day fuming, moving through the undergrowth of an old forest in the guise of a giant snake, dark brown with her usual golden scales peeking through in a repeating pattern.

She had known some envied the care she had given Serizhess, but she had never imagined that animosity could run so deep that Krashnyasha would dare to keep his last words from her for so long.

_He had no intention of telling me at all._

“Where are you going, Mama?”

_That is mine to know, hatchling._

Curving her body upwards until her head was of a height with her son, Athess dared him to protest.

“As you say, Mama,” Srama nodded. “May I go with you a while yet?”

Tilting her head, Athess considered her offspring. Srama had always been one of her calmer hatchlings – a fact his father had lamented – and eventually she nodded, waiting patiently for his form to shift into one that matched hers, dark green scales with lighter green along his belly.

_They told me he lived in the borderlands, close to the mountains._

Srama’s voice was even in her mind, but not quite even enough to fool his mother.

Athess smiled.

_Then we shall go there._

_Yes, Mama._

* * *

_Krazs says this is the place._

Srama rose up, changing fluidly as he went until his tail gave way to legs, finely scaled but closer to those of the Eruhíni, making him appear of their kin from a distance.

Athess followed suit, her voluptuous form rising from the base of her goldenscaled tail as was her wont.

“Seri made a life here…” she whispered, looking at the trees ringing the small clearing. “Those roots,” she nodded, pointing to the only place where a den might be constructed, nestled within the roots of a tall tree. “That was his… home…”

“I miss him, Mama,” Srama whispered, coming to stand beside her.

Athess curled her tail around him, pulling him close to her body with an arm meanwhile. “So do I, hatchling,” she whispered, unashamed of the tears that slid down her face. “So do I.”

“Do you think….” But Srama could not say it, and Athess would not pretend that there was more than a fool’s hope; the hatchling would have been too young to survive on his own.

But she would look regardless, search the waters for a reflection of her own scales in another.

“We shall see, hatchling,” she whispered. “But if Seri’s little one lived… we will find him.”


End file.
